


certain moments ( have a flavor of eternity )

by Niahara_Erskine



Category: Et si c'etait vrait - Marc Levy, Just Like Heaven (2005), Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, College AU, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, It will get worse before it gets better, M/M, Takao doesn't go to Shutoku, also it's more based on the book, because the book is a shitton better, but i did it anyway, but is childhood friends with the former third-years, may add more tags, non-canon, than the movie, the just like heaven AU nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-02 22:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10229693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niahara_Erskine/pseuds/Niahara_Erskine
Summary: What do you do when you move into a new apartment and things just don't seem right? When the TV powers on by itself, always presenting the Oha Asa and things left in disarray miraculously sort themselves out? When a boy appears in your closet and is astonished that you can see him? When he tells you that his body in fact lingers in a coma miles away, in a hospital?Takao had never had to deal with answers to such questions until he had decided to ditch his former roommate and seek lodgings for himself. However, when the apartment he rents seems possessed by a horoscope obsessed ghost, he has no choice but allow himself to be swept into an extraordinary adventure. He can only hope that by the end of it, he will not have his heart broken.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeyaniraSan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeyaniraSan/gifts).



> Once upon a time I discovered Marc Levy's awesome books and among them 'Et si c'etait vrait' the book that inspired Just like Heaven. And because my mind works in weird ways, after finishing KnB, I started imagining a Midotaka fic with the premise of the book at its bases. So this is what came out of it.

“Aaaahhhh, finally!” A breath of relief escaped the raven-haired boy’s lips as he finally allowed himself to crash on the newly unpacked sofa. “Who knew moving was such a chore?”

Fingers moved through his hair in an absent-minded motion, dislodging pieces of paper and plastic, remnants of the packages that had previously enclosed most of his belongings. His eyes roamed over the apartment in a lazy motion, as if trying to imprint it in his mind once more. It wasn’t much; a sparsely furnished living room with an open plan kitchen, a small bedroom with a closet and a futon, a bathroom that needed a new faucet because the current one was leaking. It wasn’t much, but it was perfect, much better than anything Takao could have imagined when he finally decided to ditch his idiot of a roommate and search for a place where he could live alone.

It was the middle of the semester and by all accounts lodging at a cheap price should be neigh impossible to find for a student. But somehow, he had lucked out; Takao had not been told the details, merely that unfortunate happenstance had made the previous owner decided to lease the apartment and at a cheap price too. It was spacious enough for his needs, ridiculously close to the University and in decent shape. Though, if he were to be true to himself, if it meant he would be rid of Tsugawa and his littering tendencies, Takao would have gleefully accepted living in a trailer.

Still, that scenario had not come to pass. Within days of starting his searches, he had come across the space that he was now starting to call his own. The only downside was the short-term lease that could be renewed only if nothing out of the ordinary happened. There had been no mistaking the shadows crossing the owner’s face when Takao had asked what that meant, the world of hurt and anguish in his eyes, and yet no answers had been given and the raven-hair had refrained from asking more.

“Well, no use wasting time on could bes,” the boy exclaimed, joints popping as he rose from the sofa, shaking as if to get rid of the day’s fatigue. With a careless gesture, he tossed aside his T-shit and trudged towards the bathroom, hesitating for a moment before turning the faucet on full heat. There was no better way of recovering from a day of hefting boxes and moving furniture – even if he had had help – than by taking advantage of a long, hot shower that did not come with the risk of being interrupted by noisy roommates.

A song echoed in the background as he started his shower; the recently plugged in TV was running, a music channel filling the silence of the room with the soft echoes of a blues song. As Takao rinsed his hair, fingers running over his scalp in a circular motion, the song started changing, the more alert notes of rock taking over. A song he knew well and the boy started humming along with it, foot beating the rhythm on the bottom of the shower. It was perhaps inadvisable; he could slip and fall if he were not careful, but the move and the shower had allowed him to relax more than he had been able to in the past weeks. A little indulgence now and then could not hurt, could it?

As he allowed the song and the splash of the water to wash away the fatigue of the day, Takao’s mind kept wandering back to the owner and to the reason that had prompted him to lease the apartment out of the blue. The rent was cheap, ridiculously so, as if the owner had wanted to be rid of the place as soon as possible. And the sadness in his voice, in his eyes… what could have happened? Even his agent did not know. The woman had mumbled something about confidentiality, a non-disclosure legal binding that prevented her from saying more. A rather amused Takao had asked whether the house was haunted or something similar, seeing as the entire ordeal seemed taken straight out of a horror movie. The woman had laughed, forcefully, and promised that no, the apartment was not haunted nor was it in any danger of falling over Takao’s head without a moment’s notice.

_“In today’s ranking, Cancer is placed last, so your day is bound to be problematic. Best be on your guard. Your item for the day is a telephone book and your color is light green. Next up will be Leo…”_

The voice of the TV interrupted Takao’s musings, the change from the music before to the horoscope as weird as it was baffling. He was sure the channel he had chosen was only music based, so how had the change occurred? Moreover, it was the end of the day. What channel worth its salt would present the horoscope at the end of the day? For a moment, he debated the possibility of a prank; perhaps Miyaji had returned to fool around with his mind, especially since Takao had told him about the whole haunted apartment idea. However, his senpai had seemed just as beat as him and there were little chances of him having the energy to devote to such things.

Stepping out of the shower, with a towel rising his hair and another wrapped around his waist, the boy made his way to the living room, confusion marring his features. The TV, no longer playing the music channel from before, was set to playback a recording from several weeks before, a recording of the Oha Asa horoscope from January. The TV had remained from the previous tenant, so it made sense for its memory to still have certain recordings stored. But for it to switch from the music channel so suddenly…

“What in the world?” Takao wondered, eyes glued on the screen and the remote control sitting innocently in the same place he had left it. There was something odd happening, but what Takao could not say. First the owner, now this. “I must be more tired than I thought. It’s my imagination playing tricks on me, that’s all.” A simple press of the button shut down the TV and encased the room in semi-darkness.

Turned as he was, attention turning from the screen to the bedroom door, Takao did not see a flash of green in the mirror, nor the powerless look on a young man’s face as his form slowly disappeared from sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In today’s ranking Cancer is placed sixth. Not a good day, but not a bad one either. Make sure to steer clear of new acquaintances. Your lucky item for the day is a monkey keychain and your color is silver.”
> 
> The sound of the TV broke through Takao’s haze of slumber, confusion filling grey eyes as he opened them to the image of the Oha Asa horoscope on screen. The TV had been closed, he had made sure of that before falling asleep. Moreover, now it wasn’t a matter of switching settings randomly, but rather of powering up without aid. And each time on Oha Asa.

The phone started ringing early in the morning, a blaring alarm that would have been more at home in a military base than a bedroom, shrieking with delight near Takao’s ear. Bleary eyed, confusion plastered on barely awake features, the boy fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, fingers grazing the offending item, before knocking it off the surface with his still uncoordinated moves. He muffled a curse in his pillow, annoyance clear as he forced himself to rise from bed and bent to retrieve his phone.

‘Enjoy your new apartment, jerk. I’m forced to room with Hanamiya from now on.’ The message blinking on his screen in tandem with the alarm made it no secret who the culprit of the impromptu wake up was. Tsugawa’s way of getting his revenge, he supposed. Moreover, the screen also pointed out with gusto the exact time – six AM on a Sunday morning – another fact that made Takao groan loudly. “There go my plans of sleeping late today.” After the hustle and bustle of the previous day, hauling furniture and arranging things neatly as per his preferences, the fact that it was Sunday had previously seemed a bliss. Thanks to his former roommate, it was no longer so.

Takao trudged out of bed, arms stretching behind his back as he slowly made his way to the kitchen. The apartment was silent, nothing out of the ordinary marring its peacefulness and as he made breakfast and prepared for the day, the boy wondered whether the whole ordeal with the TV from the day before had been merely a figment of his imagination. Or perhaps something faulty with the object itself, a circuit that caused it to shuffle from TV to recordings without notice. Surely it was nothing that could not be fixed by an expert.

“I need more sleep,” the boy decided as he sipped his tea, eyes turning to the view outside this apartment. ”I wouldn’t ponder such nonsense otherwise. It was a happenstance nothing else. Probably a sudden update of the TV.”

Outside the weather was dreary. Dark clouds hung over the city and the wind battered the buildings mercilessly. Fat drops of water made the passersby hurry their steps as they headed to whatever errant they had to complete. Inside, the apartment was crisp and warm, still smelling of the air freshener Takao had placed above the bookshelf the other day. The kitchen was plunged into semi-darkness, illuminated only by the few rays of light that broke through the clouds so early in the morning. His eyes started closing out of his own accord, slumber taking over his still tired body. The kitchen counter was hardly a comfortable place to catch up on some sleep so Takao forced himself to move to the sofa, tea still clutched in hand. Taking an old blanket from the armchair – warm, fluffy, made by his mother when he had been but a babe – he tossed it carelessly over his feet and sipped the last drops of tea from his cup. Then, lulled by the warmth of the room and the comfort of the pillow he fell asleep.

_“In today’s ranking Cancer is placed sixth. Not a good day, but not a bad one either. Make sure to steer clear of new acquaintances. Your lucky item for the day is a monkey keychain and your color is silver.”_

The sound of the TV broke through Takao’s haze of slumber an hour or so later, confusion filling grey eyes as he opened them to the image of the Oha Asa horoscope on screen. The TV had been closed, he had made sure of that before falling asleep. Moreover, now it wasn’t a matter of switching settings randomly, but rather of powering up without aid. And each time on Oha Asa. On the horoscope for Cancer.

“Huh?” Perhaps his idea of a ghost haunting the place had a merit to it after all…

It didn’t stop there. The event was only one of many to come, neither more than a nuisance, but something that puzzled Takao altogether. No matter what he did, even if he made sure the TV was not plugged in when he went to sleep at night, come morning, it would be up and running, Oha Asa relaying the horoscope cheerfully on the background. His notes, left scattered as he fell asleep, exhaustion most often making him claim the sofa as a second bed, his mother’s blanket wrapped tightly around him, would be arranged neatly the second day, sometimes even alphabetically. Scribbles often appeared on the margins, incomprehensible, but there, written in pencil, something he was sure he did not even own. And then there were the glimpses. Flashes of green as he moved from one room to another, shadows in mirrors that disappeared as soon as he looked more carefully. Ghost touches as he turned this back to the apartment and prepared to exit, questioning pushes that left barely an imprint on his clothes and disappeared instantly afterwards.

In the beginning, he had tried calling his agent, asking her about strange occurrences and whether she knew anything about them. She had been as tight lipped as the first time, repeating more forcefully that the apartment was perfectly all right and perhaps Takao should wonder whether it was worth making such a fuss when he was paying such a cheap rent. Chastised, the boy had hung up, returned to his work and his classes, and pretended not to notice anything. Pretended not to notice the horoscope for Cancer running in the background every morning and its lucky item of the day sometimes popping up on the table if it was something available in the apartment. Pretended not to heart the shuffling sounds later at night and the one broken plate that littered his kitchen one morning, the faintest glimpse of a green haired form, shoulders hunched and despair plain on barely distinguished features, disappearing from sight as soon as he stepped foot in the room. Pretended and yet...

It did not work…

“My TV keeps switching on to Oha Asa in the morning. I keep waking up and finding my courses arranged neatly. Alphabetically! There were even scribbles on the margins one day and no matter how tired I had been the day before, I definitely did not put them there. It's all staking up to a very clear conclusion,” the boy whined in his burger, Miyaji and Kimura looking at his with thinly veiled annoyance. Of course, they did not believe him; upon seeing the apartment when they had helped him move, the two had been just as enamored with it as him. Miyaji would have probably been perfectly willing to aim a pineapple at any potential ghost’s head if it meant switching places with Takao and getting to live there. Kimura might have been Miyaji’s best friend, but his snoring could wake the dead.

“Takao,” Ohtusbo tired in a placating manner, but was cut off by the raven-haired boy spreading his arms apart in a dramatic manner.

"My apartment is haunted! There's no question about that! The agent was lying when she claimed otherwise."

No one had been convinced, of course; everyone had chucked it to lack of sleep, faulty electronics and whatnot. And suggested he have a drink or two in order to forget about the whole nonsense. Two drinks became a bit too many to count, but as he trudged back home, Takao still kept wondered whether he was making a fuss out of nothing at all. After all, even if his apartment was haunted, the ghost seemed benign if nothing else. Apart from waking him up once or twice because Oha Asa was turned up too loud, it did not intrude overly much in the boy’s life. If anything, the whole ordeal made Takao curious. Who was it? Why were they lingering in that place?

As the key turned in the lock and Takao made his way inside, the same questions kept turning in his mind. Who? Why? What had happened? In his scatter minded and inebriated state of being he almost did not see the boy hovering an inch above the floor, his hand going through the remote even as the TV came to life, the recording of the Oha Asa from back then echoing in the stillness of the room.

“You…” Takao forced his mouth to move, most of the words swallowed by his surprise, allowing only a half-formed question through. “Are you my ghost?” The question that finally coalesced itself made him flush red in embarrassment, the phrasing so utterly ridiculous it made him want to take it back. However, the ghost turned, green eyes widening in surprise, before morphing into a stoic in the following moment.

“I am not a ghost. I am not dead,” he stated, form already dissolving from sight even as Takao’s hand stretched as if to hold him back, questions upon questions poised on his tongue. “Not yet, at any rate.” And was it Takao’s imagination, or was there a world of anguish in the ghost’s final words?

\---

The room was silent; pristine, white walls bordered the sterile environment, the bouquet lingering on the table the only splash of color in an otherwise monochrome word. The apparatus near the bed beeped steadily… once, twice… sixty-five times per minute, monitoring the heartbeat of the person lying motionlessly in bed, green hair splashed over the glaring purity of the linens. The person appeared merely asleep, an almost serene look resting on his face despite the mask covering his features and assisting his breathing.

The visitor’s chair was empty for the moment, its last inhabitant having left a while back, when visiting hours had been up. All that remained in his wake were the flowers, red and blue and yellow mingling in a fragrant bouquet and a small statuette, lying innocently on the table, along other mismatched objects that seemed to almost take over the small space. A purple cow, the lucky item for Cancer for that day…


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My name is Midorima Shintarou. As I said, I am this apartment’s owner. As for what I am… asleep I believe would be the proper word.” Sadness curled at the edge of his words, even though his expression remained stoic, hands curled into fists so tight that Takao wondered whether the motion hurt Midorima, despite being not quite corporeal.
> 
> Behind them, the Oha Asa started running again, the same recording from the first day and a hint of unease dawned upon Takao.
> 
> ‘In today’s ranking, Cancer is placed last, so your day is bound to be problematic. Best be on your guard. Your item for the day is a telephone book…’

The green haired specter slowly materialized in the room, a look of utter annoyance crossing his features as he gazed at the raven-haired youth occupying his apartment. Slowly after posing his inane question, words slurred so badly the ghost had barely understood what it was he was being asked, Takao had slumped over the sofa, soft snores echoing in the living room soon after. The ghost watched him for a few moments before his attention turned back to the TV and the frozen image of the Oha Asa horoscope. He reached towards the remote once more, fingers curling uselessly as his grasp passed through it. His hands trembled, fists curling at his side as he contemplated the futility of it all.

A louder snore echoed in the room, a thud accompanying it as Takao slid half off the sofa and ended up on the floor, without waking. His head remained propped on the armrest, the rest of his body arranged in a position of extreme discomfort and unwillingly, the specter allowed the ghost of a smile to flare on his lips, before rolling his eyes and huffing.

“Absurd.”

A soft word echoing in the stillness of the living room as the specter disappeared from sight once more. Behind only the frozen TV remained and the raven-haired boy that slept on, oblivious to the presence of his visitor.

\---

“Ugh.”

The morning’s rays made their way inside the room through the drawn curtains, heralding the coming of a new day and successfully waking up the slumbering youth. His back ached, a crick in his neck making him bemoan his unlucky fall off the couch. While he hoisted himself back up, a second groan of distress left Takao’s lips as his hand moved to shelter his eyes from the light. His head was pounding, a raging headache acting as consequence of the night before. Why had he allowed Miyaji to convince him to drown his questions about ghosts and paranoia in booze he did not know, but he surely regretted it now. He could barely even remember anything from the day before past his second drink.

There was something nagging at the back of his mind, something that was worth remembering but had slipped through his fingers like sand. A meeting of sorts, a vision he had not imagined, but had answered many questions before dissolving into darkness, ephemeral and untouchable. No matter how much he wreaked his brain, Takao could not remember what it was, what he was meant to remember now, but could not.

Suddenly, the phone started blearing, another alarm he did not remember setting making him fall off the sofa once more. His headache escalated in intensity as he fumbled with the screen of his phone, trying to cut off the obnoxious sound. It became clear who had set up the alarm as soon as Takao saw the little pineapple emoji attached to it in a message and also Miyaji’s passive-aggressive note in which he threatened Takao with bodily harm if he spouted more ghost stories, but also told him to make sure he was safe just in case his ghost ended up being less of a story and more of an actual problem with roots firmly fixed in reality.

A perfect way to start his day; at least it wasn’t six o’clock. Miyaji – or perhaps Kimura running interference – had been kind enough to set his alarm to go off at half past eight. Grumbling to himself, Takao carefully folded the blanket on the sofa and made his way to the bathroom to grab a handful of medicine to quell his headache. As he passed it, he turned on the radio, an old ballad filling the rooms with soulful notes.

His headache somewhat dulled, if not conquered completely, the boy trudged to the kitchen, glaring for a moment at his empty fridge before settling on making himself a cup of tea and munching on some chips still remaining in his cupboard. Time passed slowly; the songs on the radio changed a few times over as he read the notes on his last class, trying to make a semblance of sense out of his hurried writing. He read, unrushed, going over notions he already knew by heart and notions that he was just acquiring, enjoying the lack of pressure that come when studying for an examan.

It took Takao a while to notice that stereo sounds of his old, rickety radio were now being accompanying by humming and a staccato beating in rhythm with the music. Brows furrowed, the raven-haired youth followed the sound, steps taking him closer and closer to closet that remained out of use even several weeks after he had rented the apartment. The door was firmly closed, yet the sounds echoed from inside, so without pausing to ponder things further, he yanked the door open.

The sight would have been amusing had it not been so peculiar; a boy his age perhaps, or maybe a bit older, with shocking green hair stood on the ground of the closet, knees firmly drawn to his chest, and eyes previously closed opening in surprise. A pair of glasses stood askew on his nose, a bent frame and a cracked lens offering more incredulity to the image in sight.

“If this is Tsugawa’s idea of revenge, kindly tell him I had no hand in him being assigned as Hanamiya’s roommate. His pranks are wearing thin already,” Takao grumbled, hands crossed over his chest as he frowned at the stranger.

“Ah, you do not remember,” the green haired boy answered, his mumbled words inaudible to Takao. Then, louder, a dismissive look crossing his features, he added, “I do not know who this Tsugawa is nor why I would be involved in any plans of revenge he might have against you.”

“You are standing in my closet. Unless it’s some sort of a joke from my so-called friends, the only other option is that you are a thief. In which case, I must tell you that you are quite lousy at the whole burglaring deal.”

“I am no thief,” the stranger huffed, raising from his crouched position, but still remaining in the exact same spot. He was tall, taller than Takao had expected him to be, towering over the raven-haired youth. “Moreover, it is my closet. I am the owner of this apartment.”

“Yeah, no,” Takao laughed, dismissing the notion as ludicrous. “I’ve met the owner when I signed the papers. Middle aged guy, with a bald spot at the top of his head. He’s nothing like you.”

“Kindly refrain from mentioning the bald spot if you meet with him again,” the green haired stranger smirked. “My father goes to great pains to pretend such a spot does not exist. This is my apartment; my father is only acting in my behalf while…” he trailed off, a dark countenance settling over his features and the look made Takao blink in almost-remembrance, the tug of a memory slipping just past his grip.

“If what you are saying is true, what are you doing here? The contract is not up for renewal until the next month.”

“I’ve always been here. You just have failed to realized till now.” Takao blinked, a question lingering on his lips, but as he was about to ask, the boy disappeared from sight, the closet remaining as empty as it had been till then.

“Tell me,” the voice now came from the living room and as he turned to make his way back, Takao staggered in surprise. The stranger was now standing in the middle of the room, bare feet hovering a few inches from the ground, coffee table passing through his legs that had gained a somewhat translucent quality. “Was it quite necessary to add these hideous paintings to my walls.”

Takao’s brain froze for a moment, as if having undergone a short-circuit, eyes growing wide in astonishment as he took in the sight in front of him. Another memory nagged at the back of his mind, another wisp unable to be caught, even as he stammered, “G-g-ghost!”

“I believe we have been through this yesterday. I am no ghost, not in the way you perceive one to be, that is.”

“Yesterday?”

“Do you often indulge in drinking up to the point of losing all recollections of the previous day’s happenings,” the ghost snapped in impatience, drawing Takao out of his fugue enough to shout an annoyed ‘hey’, before making his way inside the room.

“So, you’re not a ghost. But you’re not real either, not really,” he muttered, allowing himself to collapse on the sofa, features twisted in confusion. Either everything that was happening was real, in which case, take that Miyaji, he had been right. Either he was still under the influence of the drinks of the previous day. In any case, he had no choice but to roll with it, since the other was literally floating above his floor. “Who are you? What are you?”

“My name is Midorima Shintarou. As I said, I am this apartment’s owner. As for what I am… asleep I believe would be the proper word.” Sadness curled at the edge of his words, even though his expression remained stoic, hands curled into fists so tight that Takao wondered whether the motion hurt Midorima, despite being not quite corporeal.

Behind them, the Oha Asa started running again, the same recording from the first day and a hint of unease dawned upon Takao.

_‘In today’s ranking, Cancer is placed last, so your day is bound to be problematic. Best be on your guard. Your item for the day is a telephone book…’_

“Did something happen that day? Is this why you are playing it over and over again?” The question however startled Midorima, features shuttering in hopelessness for a moment, before a cool façade took over. With nary a world, he started disappearing, leaving Takao and a mountain of questions behind.

\---

The monitors beeped in their usual rhythm, the only disturbance in a seemingly still room. The figure on the bed remained as motionless as ever, but there was another in the room at that time, a red-haired boy sitting in the visitor’s chair, twirling a shogi piece between his fingers.

“Father has spoken to your parents about a certain American doctor. His methods might be deemed unorthodox, but there is no denying their success. I believe he will be over in two days’ time.”

The visitor sighed, a tightness to his features not present in his casual speech from before. Without hesitation, he rose, fingers pressing the shogi piece to the table, before turning his back to the room and the one lingering inside. “You must wake. I tire of having to make do with lesser shogi opponents while you slumber.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room was as sterile as anything else in the hospital. A bouquet of flowers, almost on the verge of wilting stood on the table next to the bed. At their feet, all sorts of knick-knacks were arranged in various patterns. He recognized some of them; the lucky items Oha Asa had proclaimed for Cancer in several of the past days. However, his attention soon became drawn to the figure lying listlessly on the bed, an oxygen mask obscuring half his features and an IV drip hooked to his wrist. He was paler than the Midorima floating next to the window, much paler with dark bangs framing his eyes. No glasses rested on his nose and a deep scar above his left eyebrow marked the difference between the sleeping Midorima and his spectral apparition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so sure about this chapter...

After Midorima disappeared for the second time that day – and from the looks of it, for an extended period of time – Takao could not find the motivation to return to his courses. His mind was running a thousand miles per hour, the incredulity that had been pushed back as the events had been unfolding themselves, returning with a vengeance and leaving him reeling. He could deny it had all happened – from the sound of it, he had done it once before- but then again, he had often been one to let his thoughts wonder over the more obscure elements of life and death. Ghosts did not seem as implausible to him, as they did to everyone else. If anything, the meeting was the final piece of a larger puzzle that had been eluding him till then. Everything was finally starting to make sense, from the TV powering on randomly, to the scribbles appearing out of thin air at the edge of his notes. He’d phone Miyaji to crow about being right if he was not sure the other would try and throw a pineapple at his head for speaking nonsense.

A new determination filling him to the very core, he pushed his notes aside and powered on his laptop. The old, rickety thing gave a pitiful beep as it started, faded colors blinking on the screen, contrasting even with the much crisper image of the apartment’s TV. It was old, a present from his mother when he had started high-school, a hand me down from a cousin, but still very much cherished. Of course, it had followed him when he had left home for university, a useful aid for the non-printed materials they used.

Search engine on, it did not take long for Takao to start seeking information on one Midorima Shintarou. The first searches were innocuous enough; child prodigy, known to have been an incredible basketball shooter – for a moment Takao wondered whether he would have met Midorima on the court had he taken up basketball like his father had wanted. Studying medicine, but at a different university than Takao studied the same field at. And then the search results changed. From simple, benign things of everyday life to tragedy.

‘Drunk driver, wet road, horrible accident. A car out of control. Several casualties. One dead, another grievously injured. Five more with severe injuries. Damage done to nearby surroundings.’ The date, the very same one that kept being repeated in the Oha Asa recording his ghost kept on playing.

“So now you know,” Midorima’s voice echoed near him out of the blue and Takao yelped, hands almost losing their tight knuckled grip on the laptop balanced precariously on his legs. The green haired youth had a faraway look in his eyes, gazing at the headlines Takao had been perusing, but not quite seeing them. “The driver died that day. He was the casualty. And another of the five died later, during surgery. By the time of his death nobody cared anymore, so the whole matter got glossed over.”

“Midorima…”

“Come. This will make more sense somewhere else.”

As soon as they stepped outside, it became glaringly obvious Takao was the only one that could see Midorima. He passed through objects and people alike, not a care in the world, as he forced himself to move, rather than float, forward. For the briefest of moments, Takao allowed himself the childish action of pinching himself to make sure he was truly awake, before following at a brisker pace when his resident ghost started moving faster. They stopped half an hour later, in front of one of the city’s best known hospitals; a sense of dread washed over Takao as he took one step after the other, following the murmured instructions that Midorima kept giving him.

It would have been ludicrous, almost a scene taken from a bad action movie where the main character had to elude the villains, if it hadn’t been so troubling. Midorima’s knowledge of the hospital allowed Takao to evade all those that would have demanded answers for his presence there, until he found himself before a door, as white and nondescript as the others. He didn’t need to be prompted to go inside; his fingers curled around the handle out of their own accord, pushing the door open before hesitation had a chance to settle in.

The room was as sterile as anything else in the hospital. A bouquet of flowers, almost on the verge of wilting stood on the table next to the bed. At their feet, all sorts of knick-knacks were arranged in various patterns. He recognized some of them; the lucky items Oha Asa had proclaimed for Cancer in several of the past days. However, his attention soon became drawn to the figure lying listlessly on the bed, an oxygen mask obscuring half his features and an IV drip hooked to his wrist. He was paler than the Midorima floating next to the window, much paler with dark bangs framing his eyes. No glasses rested on his nose and a deep scar above his left eyebrow marked the difference between the sleeping Midorima and his spectral apparition.

“I’ve been aware ever since the accident,” Midorima explained in a faux casual voice. “In the beginning, I could not leave this room so I stood and watched as my friends and family came and went. In time, I started being able to move. First to the cafeteria, then to the ground floor, after a while back home. Nobody could see me, so I kept switching between these places, watching myself die little by little. Watching my body wither as I hovered uselessly around it,” he choked back the derision in his words, adding even more sharply than warranted, “You asked me what I am Takao. I am a human ghost and you are the poor unfortunate fool that has the dubious honor of being able to see me.”

The words were bitter, a cutting edge to each syllable that made Takao stagger back. Vitriol poured in letters, hatred at the world, at his powerlessness in front of the situation at hand. And the raven-haired boy had no idea what to do in the situation at hand.

There was a whirlwind of questions Takao wished to pose. Why him, out of the entire world? Why was he able to see? What could he change? Why was Midorima still aware when his body was lingering on the threshold between life and death? But none of them held the answers both crave, so he squared his shoulders, smiled – small and sad, unlike his exuberant smiles of everyday – and tried to place his hand on the green haired boy’s shoulder, forgetting for a moment he was naught but an apparition. However, to both of their consternation, the hand met solid ground and Takao pressed softly, gentleness in a motion that should have been impossible. The shoulder beneath his touch quivered, tension accumulated for days without end bleeding out slightly at the simple contact. How long it had been since Midorima had been able to feel anything at all.

“Come, let’s go home. There’s nothing left to do here.”

They didn’t quite manage to evade the nurses the second-time round, though luckily, they ran into them far from Midorima’s room. Takao plastered a charming smile as he took a turn down one of the corridors, mentioned meeting his poor, sick cousin and bringing her a toy. He was soon left to his own devices and his steps hurried, the desire to put distance between himself and the sterile environment growing by the minute. Midorima appeared to be of a similar mindset; his resident ghost kept on moving without looking back, back ramrod straight and steps determined. It was only the subtle shaking of his hands that belayed his inner turmoil, the constant clenching and unclenching of fingers a telltale of a situation gone as bad as possible.

They spent the entire way back in silence, thoughts churning in both their minds, questions without answer barraging their relentlessly. Takao slid the key in the lock with slightly shaking hands, struggling to push it open even as Midorima made his way inside through the thick concrete wall. As soon as he was inside, the raven-haired boy made a beeline to the couch, reaching his mother’s blanket and clinging to it, a shield against the confusion of the day.

“How did it happen?” he finally asked, his voice slightly croaky and subdued. “The articles said the driver was drunk, that the car veered off…”

“The article was right,” Midorima cut the question off, his features tense, the unwillingness to answer palpable in his voice and Takao did not press on. Perhaps the other would tell him one day. Or perhaps not; neither option changed the outcome. “I haven’t been able to touch anything since then. To feel anything,” the green haired boy stated, measuring Takao with his gaze as if trying to solve a conundrum that held no answer. “Until today. Until you… What makes you different?” The question, stated in Midorima’s slightly irritated tone of voice, could have been perceived as an insult. However, it did not take Takao long to understand it was not. It was genuine confusion, linked with the smallest shard of hope; if a change had happened, yet another could occur.

“Can’t say. I was just looking for a cheap flat to get rid of Tsugawa,” Takao grinned, trying to chase the gloom still clouding his thoughts. Midorima must have seen enough despair, surrounded as he had been by his saddened friends and his collapsing body. A little cheering up might not go amiss. “Didn’t know I’d end up with a haunted one. Explains the cheap rent, if anything.”

“Have we not already established I am not a ghost,” Midorima snapped, but some of the despair from before had leeched from his voice.

“Don’t know! You look pretty ghost-ish to me. The rest is all semantics really.” A grin, grey eyes twinkling in amusement and Takao considered himself victorious when the other’s features twitched in annoyance, overcoming the shadows in his gaze.

“Takao, shut up.”

“One thing I don’t understand,” Takao mused. “What’s with the Oha Asa? I saw the lucky items in your hospital room. And you always turn on the TV in the morning when the predictions for Cancer come. Not to mention that recording.”

The question may have seemed innocent in the beginning, but Takao regretted it as soon as he uttered it. The shadows returned with that inquiry, the green haired boy’s gaze shuttering as Midorima turned his attention to the screen. “One needs to do their best and then fate will decide how everything will turn out. That day, I didn’t do my best.” A vulnerable look flashed over Midorima’s features as willed himself away once more, ignoring Takao’s voice ringing in his wake.

\---

A loud swish broke the silence of the room, the dizzying swirl of the ball disrupting the stillness of it all. The visitor’s chair remained empty, the one in the room sitting up next to the bed, still spinning a basketball on his finger as he beheld his unmoving friend. “You gotta wake up soon. Satsuki’s been bursting into tears every time she thinks about you and not even Tetsu’s been able to handle her. This sleeping shit is wearing down fast.”

Though his words remained casual, a hint of annoyance breaking now and then, his features betrayed his underlying thoughts, fear and sadness shinning vividly in the dark blue gaze. The ball in his hands jerked to a sudden stop and the boy bent to hide it beneath the bed, out of sight so that the nurses would not toss it out. “Kise and Tetsu’ve been bringing your lucky items for the date, but who knows, maybe this will help more. Hurry up and stop channeling Sleeping Beauty, will ya? We ain’t gonna find you a price to wake you up.”

If only that would have been the answer… the door closed with a louder bang than necessary as the visitor left the room, the echoes lingering for a few moments more before all returned to silence.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What did you call me?” The annoyance was back, a sharp twitch of his features betraying Midorima’s less than charitable thoughts towards the other.
> 
> “You heard me right, Shin-chan,” another grin, and then Takao winked, clapping Midorima on the shoulder before laughing as he headed to his room to change. The nickname had rolled off his tongue with an easy familiarity, one that had been meant to irritate his companion.
> 
> It was true, Takao had no means to change things dramatically for Midorima. But that did not mean he could not make his situation better in smaller ways.

“Takao. Takao. TAKAO!”

The raven-haired boy jerked to awareness, the motion making him roll out of bed in a tangle of blankets, pillows and sheets. Rays of sunshine burst through the barely drawn curtains, hurrying the process to awareness and  silver-blue eyes blinked owlishly at his resident ghost, as Midorima glowered at him, green gaze alight with annoyance and a finger pointed to the clock cheerfully showing the time on the wall.

“Wha… what… Midorima?”

“You have around ten minutes to get out of the house if you do not wish to be late,” Midorima stated tartly, the same look of annoyance remaining on his features as Takao yelped in surprised, scrambled out of the blankets and tossed everything behind him in his dash to the bathroom. Five minutes later, with the tooth brush still jammed between his teeth and clothes askew, he hurried back to the bedroom, fingers furiously checking the alarm on his computer.

“It was supposed to go off an hour ago,” he said with a mouthful of toothpaste as he checked the setting, some of the white foam making its way on the carpets much to Midorima’s disgust. All his alarm settings had apparently been messed with, a fact that had gone unnoticed due to the hangover of the previous day and the events that followed. Miyaji’s prank no doubt…

Five minutes later, and another whirlwind dash through the apartment that left a complete mess in his wake, Takao was off the door muttering under his breath. Behind, a harassed sort-of ghost sighed in exasperation.

“Of all the people in the world Father could have found to rent the apartment to.”

Still, despite his fit of pique, Midorima could still remember the touch from the day before, a warm hand pressing on his shoulder, a touch overriding the nothingness that had followed him for weeks upon weeks after the accident. Truly, he did not know where his father had found Takao with his love for hideous paintings, his cheerful disposition and his clumsy bed falls, but all of those paled to utter insignificance if it meant that he was finally being seen and heard after so long. If it meant, he could finally feel something in his state of not-quite-living.

\---

The day passed in a daze for Takao. Between his less than ceremonious wake-up call that left him yawning the better part of the morning and the constant thrum of his thoughts, the boy had hardly been able to focus on his courses and note-taking. Even a glimpse thrown over the last pages he had filled up made him realize there would be hell into trying to make sense of them. His chicken-scratch, as hard to read as ever, was strewn all over the place, phrases crossing over one another and lists overlapping.

It was late in the afternoon when his feet finally took him down the route back home, but his mind still drifted and he felt he could not return to the conundrum left at the apartment without giving himself some moments to think. To understand. He stopped, changed direction, twisted and turned as he got farther and farther away from his destination. He passed the neighborhood basketball court where his friends used to play basketball when they were young, cajoling him to join though he never did. Moved past the small flower shop where his mother had bought a bouquet for his sister when she gave birth. Ended up in the park, in a semi-closed off area, where he used to climb trees and skin his knees when he was a child.

The park was silent; the rustle of leaves drove Takao’s attention upwards towards the green canopy stretching above his head. For a moment, his mind was finally at ease. The churn of thoughts that had followed him the entire day has stumbled to a halt, as the soft breeze quietened his musings down. He allowed this moment of quiet, of blissful surrender. It was necessary after the whirlwind of all that he had found, after all that seemed impossible proved to be otherwise. He allowed the moment of utter stillness, his mind devoid of thoughts, of worries, no ghosts nor sorrows plaguing his mind. It was often so, with this place he liked to call his. The place where he always ran off to when he was confused, when he felt he needed time for himself. A few moments of nothingness, a breather before returning to the matter at hand.

And then it was over; he chased the moment away, returning his attention to the situation occupying his thoughts. He wondered to himself how it would have been to find himself in such a situation, to linger in the in between, watching powerless as his family came and went. As his sister wept by his bedside, his small nephew cooing in worry. As his parents begged him to return. As his friends tried their own brusque kind of love to bring it back.

Lonely, that was how it would have been.

Lonely and oh so very sad.

The image was banished as soon as it had completed its purpose; Takao had no wish to dwell on it any longer. He was hale and whole; but Midorima was not and though Takao had no wish to imagine himself in his shoes anymore, he knew enough to understand how lonely the other must feel. How alone and isolated. And probably, although the green haired boy might not acknowledge such a feeling, how scared…

There was not much Takao could do to help Midorima ( he could perhaps try a few paranormal websites or maybe contact some occultists, though he had no way of knowing whether they were anything more than charlatans ). He could not help his resident ghost communicate to his friends or family ( they would probably brand him a lunatic or a heartless monster trying to make fun of their suffering ). And he could not return the other to his body and help him wake up ( though he would, if he had any idea how to do that ). The only thing he could do was perhaps distract Midorima from his loneliness and maybe cheer him up a bit.

A few moments of pondering later, Takao knew just the way to do that.

\---

Finding your apartment’s sort-of-ghost when he didn’t want to be found proved to be more of a hassle than Takao had expected. After half an hour of calling his name and threatening to buy even more paintings to offend Midorima’s artistic sensibilities, the raven-haired boy finally gave up. It was clear his resident ghost was nowhere in the vicinity – Takao did not wish to think back on the sterile white room with its beeping machines, the other likely place where his spectral companion could be found – so he settled comfortably on the sofa, spread his notes on the little coffee table near it and started studying. Two hours later, drowsiness started washing over him and Takao allowed himself a short nap, curled into a ball with his mother’s blanket wrapped around him.

“Your notes are even more disorganized than usual. And your handwriting here is atrocious.” The voice snapped him from his slumber, a frown on his face as he blinked the cobwebs away and focused at the one speaking to him. Midorima seemed to have returned, if his careful inspection of Takao’s notes was any sign.

“Couldn’t concentrate today,” Takao yawned, rising to his feet and stretching his arms behind him. “Too much on my mind. And my writing looks as it always does.”

“Indeed. Atrocious, as I’ve said,” Midorima deadpanned.

“I’ve seen the scribbles you’ve left on the margins of my notes. At least my chicken-scratch is legible enough.”

“It’s not like I can grasp a pencil, you fool.”

The sharp retort made Takao grin, pleased with himself to have managed a slim rise out of the other. Better than letting him dwell on the situation he was stuck in. His hands fumbled towards the backpack that had been dumped carelessly behind the sofa, fingers untying zippers and laces as he fished a small, innocuous item from the deeper most pocket.

“Here,” Takao beamed proudly, presenting his companion with a small jar of blue bath salts.

“Wh…”

“Oha Asa’s lucky item for Cancers today, even though it’s pretty much the end of the day,” the raven-haired youth interrupted. “I know your friends bring them to you daily at the hospital, but you’re not really there now, are you? So I thought I’d bring them to you where you are. Here!”

Takao’s hand moved underneath Midorima’s turning it upwards and placing the item above it. He knew the green haired boy could not feel the object, not as he felt Takao’s touch, but the gentle cradle he created with his hand allowed the other to pretend, if only for a moment, that he was holding his lucky item. A dusting of pink colored Midorima’s cheeks, almost imperceptible to the naked eye due to the translucent nature of his form and the briefest flicker of wide-eyed disbelief flashed over his features, before morphing into its usual, polite – stern – slate.

“Thank you, Takao.” The answer was given in a voice that still quivered a bit, his composure lost for the briefest of moments as he beheld the bath salts the other had brought ( and given him the means to hold ).

“You’re welcome, Shin-can!” Takao quipped, grin wide and dazzling, placing the salts on the nearest shelf.

“What did you call me?” The annoyance was back, a sharp twitch of his features betraying Midorima’s less than charitable thoughts towards the other.

“You heard me right, Shin-chan,” another grin, and then Takao winked, clapping Midorima on the shoulder before laughing as he headed to his room to change. The nickname had rolled off his tongue with an easy familiarity, one that had been meant to irritate his companion.

It was true, Takao had no means to change things dramatically for Midorima. But that did not mean he could not make his situation better in smaller ways.

\---

Small hands picked up the withered flowers in the glass, tossing them carefully in the bin before replacing them with a new bouquet. Red, yellow, blue and purple flowers tied with a pink ribbon sat cheerfully in the nondescript vase as the visitor arranged them neatly, pink hair partly obscuring her view. She kept herself from glancing at the bed, at her friend lying in it, attention riveted on the task at hand, knowing that if she did not, she would lose composure once more.

“Here you go, Midorin. Kise-kun will come by later and bring your lucky item. And Mukkun said something about visiting as well.” Her voice quivered, sorrow palpable in each word and she turned, threw one watery look at the bed before leaving with a few parting words. “Get better soon, ok?”

Behind her, the room remained still, the fragrant scent of the flowers pushing aside the pervasive smell of antiseptic as the monitors kept beeping in rhythm.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fall into a routine of sorts, patterns of teasing and good natured ribbing filling their days. Midorima still twitches in annoyance at being called Shin-chan, still glowers at Takao’s unwashed dishes left on the kitchen table, instead of the sink, and grumbles at the paintings, but slowly they reach a tandem that works for both of them.

They fall into a routine of sorts, patterns of teasing and good natured ribbing filling their days. Midorima still twitches in annoyance at being called Shin-chan, still glowers at Takao’s unwashed dishes left on the kitchen table, instead of the sink, and grumbles at the paintings, but slowly they reach a tandem that works for both of them.

Midorima keeps disappearing less and less, the sterile white room abandoned in favor of spending time at the apartment. The shelf slowly fills with various objects, lucky items proclaimed by Oha Asa that Takao seeks at the beginning of the day. It is an easy camaraderie they slip in, although Takao still wonders how he could explain this to anyone should they know how to ask.

_( Miyaji, Ohtsubo and Kimura suspect something is different, but having known Takao since childhood they know when to meddle and when not to. They wait until Takao is ready to tell them, though the raven haired boy doubts such a moment will ever come to pass )_

Midorima is hard to deal with on a good day; he wakes up too early, dragging an unwilling Takao out of slumber as well whether there is a need or not. He scoffs at things he deems too pedestrian like reality shows and fast food. He berates Takao on a daily basis for his chaotic course notes and even more chaotic management of the apartment they both inhabit. His overwhelming confidence sometimes grates on Takao’s nerves and his habit of scribbling in his courses gives birth to rows more than once.

But they spend time together, more and more as each day passes. Midorima helps him before an exam sometimes – an excuse to keep up with his own studies, he explains – and tells Takao when Scorpios will have a bad day, nagging him until the raven-haired boy purchases his own lucky item of the day. He sloppily floats a blanket over the slumbering youth whenever Takao falls asleep on the sofa and makes sure not to turn on Oha Asa too loud in the mornings, even if his control of electronics is still as bad as it was in the beginning.

Takao would like to think they are friends of a sort, but at the same time he fears the label more keenly than anything else. He does not know how he would be able to cope if the whole thing turns out to be a dream one morning or worse, if the machines keeping Midorima alive one day stop beeping, ripping the green haired boy away from him.

* * *

 

“Shin-chan, where am I supposed to put this monstrosity?”

The monstrosity in question was the lucky item of the day, a French bulldog holding a toad on his head that Takao had spent hours searching for all around the city. Luckily for him, it had been Saturday. The only response he received was an unimpressed glower, so he trudged the statuette towards the corner of the room and dumped it there unceremoniously.

“How in the world are your friends going to bring a thing like this to your hospital room?” He slumps on the sofa with a whine of exhaustion, letting his head plop on the armrest.

“I do not know. However, I believe it is Kuroko’s turn and he is resourceful enough to figure a way.”

“I’m pretty sure your nurses hate all of you.”

They did not and Takao knew it all too well. He had returned on occasion to the hospital room, towards the end of visiting hours when he was sure there was no one there he would come across. The nurses had all been very kind, moved by the faithfulness of Midorima’s friends and the gifts they always left behind ( Takao still considered it somewhat of a miracle that they had not found the basketball lying innocently under the bed ).

“I doubt it.”

* * *

 

Sometimes they fight; they do not know each other well enough not to step on the other’s toes and careless comments or even well-meaning questions can set them off with ease. When it happens one or the other will leave the apartment, slam the door in his wake or disappear in the shadows as if he had never been there in the first place. When Takao leaves, things are easier to handle. He heads to the park to clear his mind, drops down on a bench and cools off. It does not take long; he is not one to hold grudges and his temper flares rarely, before dying down just as quick. After it happens, he spends half an hour more wandering aimlessly, allowing the peace and quiet of the park to fill him up, before returning to the apartment to patch things up.

When Midorima leaves it always strikes fear in Takao’s soul because he does not know whether the green haired boy will return or not, does not know whether that is the day it all proves to be an illusion or the day when it all comes to an end. So he waits and paces, body all pins and needles as he bites down on his lip in anxiety, attention scattered everywhere and nowhere at all. He leaves red bean soup cans on the kitchen table as a peace offering and trudges to his bedroom to allow the other his space when and if he wishes to return. He opens the bedroom door with apprehension when the TV powers up suddenly in the living room and sighs in relief when he spots green hair and askew glasses.

* * *

 

The paintings were hideous; no matter how he looked at them, the mismatched figures and the wild splashes of paint scattered everywhere carelessly made no sense whatsoever. They looked as though a child had taken a brush to an easel and had afterwards sold the finished work. He could not understand what Takao saw in them.

“Whatever the paintings did to you, I am sure they are very sorry and apologize profoundly,” the person in question’s voice pepped from behind him, a wide grin plastered on the boy’s features as he rolled on the balls of his feet and pointed to the so-called works of art littering his – _their ­–_ walls.

“Their very existence is an affront to paintings worldwide. I weep for your deplorable preferences in art,” Midorima deadpanned, turning his back on the wall as if wishing to erase the view from his memory.

“I needed something to make the walls more cheerful and they were cheap enough. Plus, the one on the right looked like something my sister used to draw when she was young.”

“Ah…”

“She considered it a wonderful piece of art. Mother considered it an abomination, but still hung it in the living room in full sight.”

* * *

 

Midorima knows he can be callous at times, knows his words cut and bring bitter thoughts to the surface. He tries to reign in this habit when dealing with Takao, tries to hold back out of a wish to not alienate the one person who is able to see and talk to him. However, he is not always successful. They have known each other only for a handful of weeks and though the other is most often bright and cheerful, there are buttons that can be pushed to sour his mood.

So, they fight sometimes and Takao leaves, slams the door behind him with enough force to rattle it and heads towards who knows where. Midorima can do little more than wait, a specter shuffling from one room to another, the nagging worry at the back of his mind that Takao would not return, that he would decide to forgo the contract for the apartment altogether and find another place to live, one that came with less complications. And then there would be no one to talk to, even to argue with, the constant nothingness of the first week returning with a vengeance. But Takao always returns and Midorima is not too proud to apologize when it is his fault, not too aloof to hold himself above such trivial things when the raven-haired boy comes with a can of red bean soup as offering ( it does not matter that he cannot drink it; the gesture is more than enough ).

Sometimes it is Midorima who leaves, disappears from the apartment just to land in his hospital room, near his motionless body that still gives no signs of waking. He lingers there, sometimes for hours, watches the comings and goings of nurses until he can bear it no more, until the sight of his decaying body wraps tendrils of hopelessness around his soul. It is then that he returns, goes back to the apartment and to Takao that meets him with a sort of wide eyed incredulity on his features as though he had expected Midorima to never return again.

* * *

 

“What high-school did you go to, Shin-chan?”

The day was dreary, rain pounding mercilessly on the windows, effectively blocking even the slightest chance of going outside for a walk. It was a Sunday as well, which made the whole ordeal even worse. Takao had stretched on the floor in dismay, fingers curling around Midorima’s wrist, dragging the other down as well and making sure he remained so.

_( the green haired boy had admitted that it took a conscious effort to walk and to lie down, even to try and move the few things he could affect. Otherwise he sort of drifted, aimlessly, feet floating above the ground, his body turning more translucent with each passing moment. Takao’s touch tethered him, grounded him and Midorima knew there was no way to repay this. )_

A mini planetarium lingered in the corner of the room – the lucky item of the day -, scattering stars all over the ceiling of the room, Takao’s gaze riveted on them as they lit up the semi-darkness in which the apartment had been plunged by the weather.

“Shūtoku High.”

“Wait, Shūtoku? And you played basketball, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you’re the one Miyaji kept threatening to throw pineapples at.”

A disgruntled expression appeared on the green haired youth’s face as his companion dissolved into stitches of laughter, remembering the numerous occasions in which his friends had griped and whined about the prideful freshman with a holier-than-thou attitude. Takao had never managed to see the beauty of basketball, though both Kimura and Miyaji had tried to entice him in their shared childhood. And though they had tried to convince him to come to Shūtoku, he had chosen a different path.

He was not sure whether now he regretted it or not.

“If it’s any consolation, Miyaji started complaining less towards the end.”

“It’s not.”

* * *

 

Takao discovers early on that Midorima is touch starved, though he will never admit it. Several weeks spent in complete and utter isolation, the inability to connect with anything, to feel anything at all until the raven-haired boy had stumbled in his life had left the other yearning, though unwilling to acknowledge such a desire. It is not hard to hear the sigh of relief whenever they bump by accident, the see the slight twitch of his fingers as he reaches for something he cannot grasp.

Midorima will never ask, but that does not mean Takao does not see. So, he becomes a little more clumsy than usual; their arms brush as they pass one another and his shoulder bumps slightly with Midorima’s when they linger on the couch, his fingers curl around the other’s wrist to drag him here or there and his hand often presses reassuring touched on the green haired specter’s shoulder whenever his mood pummels. The touches are light, casual, but serve as yet another way to change an unchangeable situation.

And if Midorima allows himself to lean in a touch now and then, if his fingers sometimes curl around Takao’s wrist in silent thanks and his hands push aside stray strands of hair that fall in Takao’s eyes as he dozes on the sofa, it’s not as if it means anything at all. It’s just gratitude or so Takao tells himself…

* * *

 

A crunch of chips echoed in the white room, the munching sound almost overwhelming the constant beeping that filled the silence. The visitor stood in the small chair, long legs bent uncomfortably to accommodate his large stature and back slightly hunched to peer at the figure on the bed. A bag of chips stood open in his lap and now and then the visitor would grab a handful, munching on them as he stood in absolute silence.

When he reached the end of the bag, he rose, joints popping at the motion. A large hand dug into his pocket, bringing out two bars of maiubo and wordlessly putting them on the table that was almost overflowing with all the knick-knacks left on it. “Mido-chin should hurry and wake up. Sleeping for so long is boring.” The words left the visitor’s lips as he pushed the door open, nary a glance thrown behind as he left the room.


End file.
